


Deaf words

by shaking_indigo



Series: Let it be [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaking_indigo/pseuds/shaking_indigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as he enters the room, he hates himself. His work, his egoisms, his perfectionism to give his soon-to-be, no, his should-have-been family a comfy home and possessions instead of love and attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deaf words

His desk is cluttered with all kinds of papers, notes and scripts. His head hurts and his left leg feels like it might have fallen asleep.

He sighs.

There is a light knock on the door and of course it opens without him saying a word. He’s too tired right now to return the smile on the face of his husband.

“Are you soon ready to go?” comes the question from the door.

Go? Go where?

The confusion must show on his face, because the smile drops. “Please don’t tell me you forgot that we have to to pick up the results from the doctor today.”

“That was today?”

“Yes!” comes the anger laced answer. A sigh and then disappointment replaces any happy feature on his husband’s face.

“You promised me! You already skipped the last time! I am starting to feel like you don’t care about our child!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he throws back. His head hurts so much. And this is truly ridiculous. Like he wouldn’t care. Like he hadn’t cried joyful tears in the arms of the man still standing in the door. His gaze drops to the tiny bump visible under the layers of clothes and he sighs again. For whom is he doing all that if not for his soon-to-be family?

“Can’t you make another appointment?”

“You know that we’ve already waited three weeks for this appointment!” A sneer.

“Then why do I have to accompany you if you only have to pick up results? I’m sorry that I forgot, but can’t you see I am busy?”

Silence before the heavy wooden door falls close with a loud bang.

~

Another two hours of silence, only broken by the rustle of papers or the clink of the mug on the desk, before the phone rings. He doesn’t even bother to look at the number.

He’s down and in his car in less than three minutes.

The drive is too long and when the car screeches to a halt in the parking lot, he doesn’t even know how he got there.

He’s held back by metal doors and nurses trying to calm him down. He’s pushed into a chair near the metal doors, and time seems to drag.

When the door finally opens, everything suddenly happens too fast and why can’t that doctor speak more slowly? All he can understand is “sorry” and “too severe” and “21 weeks, no chance”.

He doesn’t run to the room. His body feels numb, as much as his mind.

As soon as he enters the room, he hates himself. His work, his egoisms, his perfectionism to give his soon-to-be, no, his should-have-been family a comfy home and possessions instead of love and attention.

When he sinks down on a chair besides the bed, the red cuts and bruises hurt his eyes.

No plea for forgiveness is uttered when he holds the bruised fingers of his husband, because he knows that they are not enough nor that they want to be heard.

He hates himself so much.


End file.
